


Of Chairs and Frenchmen

by Oriviurr



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oriviurr/pseuds/Oriviurr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which one of France and Englands' fights gets out of hand and Romano decides world meetings aren't really his thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Chairs and Frenchmen

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, it's Summer.
> 
> I have no words for the amount of fun I had writing this. This fic is dedicated to Jade 'cause apparently she's obsessed with impaling at the moment. Oh the things that go through our minds.
> 
> Seriously though, thanks for everything Jade. You're amazing and you got me into Doctor Who. Thanks.

Romano growled, fiddling with the notes he'd bothered to prepare for the meeting since said meeting seemed to be going no where at all, if England and France beating the shit out of each other while China and America attempted to separate them and Russia just stood there being Russia was anything to go by. Why the fuck did those bastards have to fuck up every fucking meeting? Romano swore that it was their fault that the world was crumbling to bits. Or well, that may just be a little bit of animosity left over from World War II. Fuck them all anyway.

"I'm leaving. Bastards."

With that, the former Partisan stood up and made his way to the entrance, trying his best to appear angry and not pissed off because the one meeting he was allowed to go to was ruined over the fucking stupid thing between France and England. They were both invading bastards anyway.

He didn't expect the chair.

There was a shout, something in French and in France's voice, and a victorious and _ever so slightly hysterical_ laugh in England's and suddenly all Romano could see was _redohmyfuckinggodit'sbloodwhatthefuck._

"Oh Jesus Fucking Christ! Look what you did now, frog!"

* * *

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Romano could barely even think as he re-entered the land of the living. His groggy mind drifted lazily to the thought of what the actual fuck just happened and was it Germany's fault? He couldn't help the slight amount of vindictive pleasure he got at the thought of Germany accidentally killing his boyfriend's twin. Served the bastard right. Groaning, Romano sat up slowly, inching his tired eyes open.

"Ehm, are you... alright?"

He paused instantly, looking warily over to the origin of the voice. The wine bastard sat on the chair closest to the hospital bed, looking anxious and tired and fiddling with a rolled up, Italian newspaper. Romano's eye twitched.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

The bastard had the gall to look _guilty._

"Eh, long story short, my self and Angleterre were fighting and he jumped out of the way of a chair. You ended to impaled against the wall on it. Désolé," he admitted, smiling sheepishly.

What. The. Fuck.

"A chair." He snorted, almost not believing it. "I give up on you lot. Mind leaving me to sleep?" He muttered sarcastically, flopping down to lay his head on the soft hospital pillow as he looked in the direction unspoiled by Frenchmen.

"Bon soir, Lovi!"

"Go fuck England and leave me alone, bastard."


End file.
